


Gotham

by BuckinghamAlice, lightsparkwatchboom



Series: The Dark'n'Bossy/BigBlueSky Role-Play Archive [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Comics, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, RP Blog Archive, Who Needs Editing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuckinghamAlice/pseuds/BuckinghamAlice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsparkwatchboom/pseuds/lightsparkwatchboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Martha Wayne Foundation's annual fundraiser dinner is in full-swing, just in time for the boys to get some much-needed pining in while Two-Face ransacks the local museum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 2 of the Dark'n'Bossy/BigBlueSky role-play you can find under the 'dab bbs rp' tag on tumblr. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you.

Two bruised ribs. Two bruises ribs and a layer of makeup over the right side of his chin, that’s what he walked out of his bedroom with.

"Alfred—" He winced. "Is it…?"

"Perfectly hidden, Master Bruce," Alfred replied. They walked together down the hallway. "There’s a miss Miranda Dae waiting for you."

Bruce frowned. He fussed with his tie. “I didn’t know I was escorting someone for the evening.”

"Mr. Holland asked it of you, and you happily accepted her company."

"Ah." Bruce hesitated at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath, and then immediately regretted it. "Miranda!" he announced, grinning happily as he descended. "I’m sorry to have kept you waiting." He was careful to keep his right side away from her as they exchanged pecks on the cheek.

"Any girl would want to be kept by Bruce Wayne," Miranda cooed.

"The car is ready, sir," Alfred said.

Bruce took Miranda by the arm. “Shall we be off?”

&&&

Bruce winced again as Lex Luthor pushed up against his side.

"My. Wayne, what a pleasure to see you," Lex said, extending a hand.

"Mr. Luthor," Bruce replied. He shook Lex’s hand. "I’m happy to see you could make it."

"LexCorp is nothing if not devoted to our global community."

 _Of course_ , Bruce thought. The conversation fell into easy talk after that. He tried not to think about the pending charges against Lex being stalled out in court. At least Miranda didn’t cling to him.

===

"So tonight we make our big return to the society set," Lois had said, and Clark had taken a deep breath and grinned.  Convincing Perry to convince the accounts department to pay for the expensive tickets to the Martha Wayne Foundation fundraiser had not been easy, but he and Lois had been adamant that something could come of it.  They happened to know that Lex Luthor was expected to attend, and he had probably made a large enough donation to buy the Citizen of the Year award that was to be presented that evening.

Wearing a rented tux and shoes that squeaked if he turned around too fast on a tile floor, Clark entered the banquet hall with Lois, who loved lovely in a form fitting red gown, on his arm.  When they presented their tickets at the door, they were told that they were sitting at table one, which was apparently a Big Deal.

As they approached the table, they saw Bruce Wayne, a young lady that was presumably his flavor of the week, and Lex Luthor.  ”Jackpot,” Lois whispered, giving Clark’s arm a little squeeze.

"Lois, my dear," Lex exclaimed.  "And yes, hello, Mr. Kent."  Lois extended her hand to Lex and Clark nodded at him.  All the politeness he could muster for that man.

Then, smiling warmly he looked to Bruce.  ”Hello, Mr. Wayne.  It’s good to see you again.”  It didn’t occur to him until after he had spoke that with as many faces as Bruce Wayne must see (and as much alcohol as he imbibed of at these occasions), he might not even remember him.

But Clark sure hoped he did.

===

Bruce blinked. “Mr. Kent,” he replied. He never forgot a face. Brucie did, though. Brucie had a hard time remembering the name of the girl he just met, sometimes. Depended on how much he had to drink.

And yet…

"Didn’t think I would be seeing you again. Have you decided that society pieces are more entertaining than breaking news?"

===

Clark gave a little half smile.  He did remember.  ”So it would seem,” he replied with a nod.  ”And it seems that my partner and I have the good fortune to be right in the thick of it — sitting at the same table as you and Mr. Luthor, and….” He looked at Bruce’s date.  ”I’m sorry, miss, I don’t believe I caught your name…”

===

"Miranda Dae," Bruce cut in, before Miranda could. He couldn’t let favoritism show.

Miranda let go of her breath and smiled. “Pleased to meet you. Do you two know each other very well or…?”

"Yes, I didn’t know you fraternized with reporters," Lex said to Bruce.

Bruce did his best to placate them with a grin. “It’s not like that. We met in Kasnia, a few weeks ago.”  _A bright smile in a dull affair_. He had to fight the scowl away at his own thoughts. He did not — for Christ’s sake, Clark had a  _girlfriend_ , Bruce had his mission. What was he even thinking?

Bruce sat Miranda to his left, and Lex sat beside Miranda. “Did anyone happen to catch the menu?” Miranda asked.

===

"I hope we’re having something good and a good portion of it," Lois commented.  "I’m starved."

Clark pulled Lois’s chair out for her and sat down next to Bruce.  He was certain Lois was just glad not to be sitting next to Lex.  She’d been in that position before, and Clark had been on the other side of her at the time… they were both glad not to be doing  _that_  again.

But Clark tried not to make too much of Bruce’s friendliness.  He had been very clear.   _Oh, it’s not like_  that, he had said.  Of course not… that’d be ridiculous.  Clark heaved the tiniest little sigh.

But surely a little conversation wouldn’t hurt.  They were, after all, going to be sitting together for most of the evening.

Clark tilted his head.  ”I, uh, took your advice on fashion… left my old suits at home.”  He went to push his glasses up his nose but the tightness of his sleeve didn’t easily allow it.  ”Well, I guess this isn’t much better.  The rental place wasn’t really ready for my monkey arms.”

===

Miranda flashed a brief frown at Lois. Bruce, meanwhile, was suddenly very conscious of the makeup caked on his face. “I see that,” he said to Clark, nodding. His mind quickly approximated Clark’s height and weight. With arms like that, he doubted the density was less fat and more muscle, but it was hard to tell for certain. Some people just carried themselves well.

"Well, I would offer you the name of my tailor, but I doubt you could afford his service," Lex said. Before Bruce could even think about glaring, the man continued, "And just how, exactly, is someone of your profession sitting at this table, Miss Lane?"

===

"Someone of  _my_  profession?” Lois asked.  ”Oh, you know, Clark and I were supposed to be handling the french fry machine tonight but we traded shifts with the zit faced sixteen year old who signs our paychecks.  I believe we’ll be making Egg McMuffins tomorrow.  Or was it milkshakes?”  She flashed an innocent smile and Clark tried not to laugh out loud.

Lex shook his head and flashed an insincere smile.  ”Oh, don’t misunderstand me, my darling.  I didn’t mean to imply…”

But Clark cut him off.  ”We  _all_  know what you meant to imply, but I’m afraid your distaste for us isn’t going to scare us off.”  He hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to say anything, but Lex was… vile and rude.  But still he fought a little blush.

===

Bruce and Miranda both chuckled politely. Lex very plainly frowned and stood from his seat.

"I believe I see my date for the evening. Will you excuse me," he said. He did not wait for anyone’s response.

"Well," Miranda began, "ten dollars says he’s not coming back."

"Not much of a gamble," Bruce said. He sipped the not-wine in his glass and glanced almost expectantly at Miranda, but if her near-silence on the ride over was any indication, she was a woman of few words. He sucked in a breath.

"So, how did you enjoy Kasnia?" he asked of Lois and Clark, glancing between them.

===

Clark cleared his throat.  ”It was… “

Lois smiled.  ”Dull.  The word you’re looking for is dull, Smallville.  Nothing much came of it.”

"Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that," Clark said with a smile.  "It’s a… lovely country.  I might not mind going back again… under different circumstances of course."

===

“‘Smallville?’” Bruce raised his brows. “That’s an interesting nickname. How long have you two been together?”

===

"Oh!" Clark exclaimed.  "Oh… oh, no… we’re not… we’re just partners on the paper…"

Lois laughed.  ”He’s… well. I’m not his type.”

"And she only calls me Smallville because that’s where I come from," Clark explained.  "Smallville, Kansas, that is.  It doesn’t  _mean_  anything.”  And he could feel himself blushing… so he couldn’t help letting out a little laugh, like a puff of hot air.

===

Miranda leaned forward, holding her chin with one curled fist. “Oh really? And just what is your type, Mr. Kent?” She looked not unlike a cat who had cornered a particularly delicious-looking mouse.

Bruce had to think. He himself wanted to know, because he himself was foolishly intrigued by a reporter —  _a_   _reporter_! Really, he did not know what he was thinking. He’d barely been back in the States for two years, had barely even scratched the surface of Gotham’s filth, and here he was, stuck on the way this guy’s blush colored his face.

And speaking of types, Clark wasn’t even his. Not logically speaking, anyways. Brucie might’ve found Clark charming, if Clark were actually Carol or Catherine, but Bruce himself couldn’t. Shouldn’t. He  _shouldn’t_  have found Clark charming. Because Clark was a reporter, and Bruce was Batman. That was just asking to be found out, asking to be —

He stopped, and he blinked. Part of him was aware that barely a second had gone by. His mind moved incredibly fast; he himself tended to forget that, sometimes. But one thing he did know: that wasn’t a sentence he could ever allow himself to finish.

"Miss Dae," Brucie chided playfully.

Miranda’s smirk grew. “Don’t try telling me it’s inappropriate conversation for dinner, Brucie. The man walked into it, and dinner isn’t even here yet.”

===

Clark’s eyes widened slightly.  ”It’s fine,” he said, managing to steady his voice.   _Tread lightly_ , he told himself.  ”I guess I did walk into it… or I was shoved into it by my friend here.  Good thing I’m used to that treatment.”  He playfully nudged Lois with his elbow.  

There was no way to answer this question without hurting someone’s feelings.  The first thing that came to mind was that his type was someone who’d never put him on the spot like that.

The second thing that came to mind was that right about now, the only  _type_  he was interested in was the dark haired, blue eyed man with a voice that he could actually  _feel_.

"And, to be perfectly honest," Clark continued, "I guess my type would be a person that has more to them than it would appear on the surface.  With a person like Lois, what you see is what you get… and that’s good.  But I… I guess I like a bit of mystery."

===

For half a second, Bruce considered asking Clark if he was gay. But then the lights went dark, and a short man with a convincing toupee waltzed up to the stage.

Everyone clapped. “Thank you, thank you,” the man said. “Thank you all for coming here today. As you know this is the fourteenth annual Festival of Giving, a holiday known only tot he incredibly rich, and the incredibly poor. Who might just be, after all is said and done, not so poor after all.”

The man — who introduced himself as Mark Walls — went on with his speech. Bruce watched him intently, careful not to let his eyes wander away. At one point Walls locked eyes with Bruce, and Bruce thought that maybe he was going to be called to stage for an impromptu speech. He was, after all, the founder of the Martha Wayne Foundation. Luckily, Walls either didn’t feel like it or he decided not to risk Brucie getting the spotlight, because he concluded his speech with a curt, “So let’s eat!”

"Finally," Miranda said. "I thought he was going to talk forever." Waiters started filing through the room.

Brucie grinned. “Don’t let him fool you, he’s perfectly capable of talking Death into oblivion.” Then, desperate to get onto a not-so-personal topic, he looked at Lois. “And honestly, I’m not trying to be disrespectful, but the last time I saw press get past the foyer was years ago. You must be a truly great reporter. Or you’ve got some great connections, at least. Which would you say it is?”

===

Clark had to heave a little sigh of relief that the group’s attention was off of him.

"Couldn’t it be both?" Lois asked with a smile.  "And we do have tickets, after all.  We’re hardly gate crashers.  So the whys are hardly important… are they, Clark?"

Clark smiled as a waiter placed plates of ossobuco in front of them.  ”We have a habit of turning up where we’re not particularly wanted and making folks squirm over what we might say about them in the morning paper.  Great way to spend an evening.” 

===

"Oh? Have I said anything scandalizing yet?" Bruce asked, quirking an eyebrow. He felt like there was something else being passed between Clark and Lois, but he didn’t want to ask.

"Darling, you’ve barely made it past your first drink," Miranda said. "Wait until he’s had a few more."

Brucie smiled. Bruce didn’t want to think about it.

===

Clark smiled and raised an eyebrow.  ”And why do I get the feeling that if you  _did_  say something scandalous it would be entirely on purpose?”

===

Brucie laughed. “You know what they say, any publicity is good publicity! And I like to think I’ve got a photogenic face worth sharing with the world.” He swallowed and quickly stood from his chair. “Also, I need to use the restroom. Please, don’t wait up for me.”

He left. The level of relief that washed over him when he found the bathroom entirely empty was uncalled for, too. His heart was going a million miles a second. This wasn’t good, he knew. This was so far down the  _Bad Situations_  scale that this merely being a bad situation would be an improvement.

He needed to find a way to leave, to get as far away from Clark as he possibly could. Because that one line shouldn’t have gotten to him so quickly. Because he had so much left to learn about reigning himself in.

 _The Mission comes first_ , Bruce reminded himself, splashing water on his face.  _The Mission must always come first_.

Back at the table, Miranda had a sweet expression when she said, “Running out on shameless flirting. Makes you wonder just which way a man’s swing goes, doesn’t it?”

===

"Flirting?" Clark asked, attempting to sound innocent.  It had been shameless, entirely shameless, but he… he couldn’t stop the words spilling out of his mouth.  That kept happening where this man was concerned.  Clark shook his head and continued, "Oh, I wasn’t…"

"Yes you were," Lois said in an almost singsong voice.  "No shame in it.  Who could blame you?"

But maybe Bruce did.  That was probably why he had run away.  He hadn’t looked fazed by the comment, but Clark did happen to hear a spike in his heart rate.

"I… I was just being friendly," Clark said.  He took a sip of his glass of water and then looked down at the food before him.  He wasn’t terribly hungry.

===

Miranda looked surprised. “I…wasn’t actually talking about you, Mr. Kent,” she said.

"Who are we talking about?" Bruce said, suddenly rejoining the conversation. "Sorry, I only caught the last bit."

Miranda smiled. “Nothing, lovely. We were just discussing the fact that Luthor’s date seems to be none other than Amanda Waller.” She tilted her head to the table Lex had found his way to.

===

Clark’s face flamed.  He set down his glass of water and used the moment to steal a glance at Bruce, but quickly averted his eyes.  He didn’t want to know if he was going to look at him with pity or judgment or… however you might look at a person who had just embarrassed himself in front of a large group of people.

If Miranda was Bruce’s girlfriend or date or whatever, she sure had a funny attitude.  She was… seemingly amused by Bruce’s reaction to Clark and Clark’s limitless ability to say the wrong thing, and he didn’t really know how to respond to that.  So he tried to see that the conversation actually turned in the direction Miranda said it had.

"Amanda Waller," he repeated absently.  He tried to think of some way to follow that up, but when he reached for his water glass again, he accidentally knocked it over, not a trace of pretend clumsiness necessary.

"Ohmygosh," he said, looking right at Bruce.  "I am so sorry… and clumsy."  He grabbed his napkin and tried to mop the spill.  "I just… shouldn’t be allowed out in public at all."

===

Bruce’s hand went straight out to Clark’s. “Stop,” he said. Then he quickly lifted his hand snapped at a waiter. The waiter cleaned up the mess, replaced Clark’s napkin. He bowed a nod before leaving.

"It’s just water," Bruce said. "Now if it had been a red wine, I might’ve been a bit more upset." Another waiter appeared to refill Clark’s glass. "Now, Amanda Waller, huh? Doesn’t she have an office at the White House? Sorry, I don’t keep up with politics."

Amanda Waller had a doctorate in political science and runs “The Agency.” He hadn’t been able to find much else other than the name.

===

Clark pulled his hand away when Bruce let go of him and clenched his fresh napkin in his fist.  There was no way that his tension wasn’t obvious to everyone at the table.  Lois gently touched his arm, and he looked up at Bruce’s face again.

He had been so… wrapped up… earlier that he hadn’t even noticed that Bruce was wearing making, and it was now beginning to rub off because of the water.  He raised an eyebrow, but he wasn’t about to say anything.  He’d already been clumsy, awkward, embarrassing, and forward… he wasn’t about to add rude to that list.  But it was strange, to say the least.  Either he was older than Clark thought and he was vain about it, or he was hiding something.  The latter seemed much more likely.

He knew he shouldn’t… but he peeked.  And he was genuinely surprised to see bruises.  Why would someone like Bruce Wayne, a person whose most strenuous activities in life were all probably related to his sex life, have bruises like that?  It looked like he had been in a fist fight or something.  But Clark could hardly ask.

"Waller’s  _official_  story is that she’s a congressional aide,” Lois said, and Clark snapped back to reality.

"Right," Clark replied with a nod, gently placing his napkin in his lap.  "The official story.  But the  _official_  story and the  _real_  story are so rarely even similar, let alone the same.”

===

Bruce opened his mouth.

"Oh!" Miranda exclaimed. Bruce looked at her. "Tell us your favorite real story. Like did you ever start investigating something and realize everyone had it all wrong?"

 _So much for quiet_ , Bruce thought. He took a bite of his dinner. At least she seemed to be having fun now; that would go over well in the rumor mill. Brucie was, after all, the funnest guy to be around.

He glanced over at Clark as he chewed, but, remembering his place, he focused on shifting between Lois, Miranda, and his dinner. Because that was another thing Brucie was known for, too. In fact, he should probably start flirting with Miranda at some point. She was his date, even if only for the night.

===

"Honey, that happens  _every_  time,” Lois said playfully.  ”But we probably shouldn’t go telling tales out of school, as they say.”

Clark smiled and took a bite of the food in front of him.  He glanced up at Bruce, not sure if he noticed him or not, and wondered what the  _real_  story was there.  But that… that wasn’t important, and it was the last thing that should be on his mind.

"Oh, I bet she’s only asking out of a genuine…  _interest_  in journalism,” Clark said with a smile.  And he looked in Miranda’s direction, but he didn’t quite see past Bruce.


	2. Chapter 2

Miranda rolled her eyes coyly. “‘Journalism is but vigilantism for the common man,’ my uncle would say. He owns thirty-two perfect of  _Trust_  magazine.”

"That, I did know," Bruce said, pointing. He grinned. "Good thing we got the table with the reporters then, huh?"

"Mm-hm. And—" Miranda paused, then let out a long gust. She looked at Lois sheepishly. "I really didn’t want to ask, because I thought you must get it all the time, but…you know Superman, right? Personally, I mean. Beyond what they, heh, report."

===

"I do get that all the time," Lois began, "but it doesn’t necessarily mean I tire of the subject.  I do know Superman.  We  _both_  do,” she said, gesturing to Clark.

Clark laughed.  ”But he and I don’t really run in the same circle.”

"If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous," Lois commented.

"But you do know better," Clark replied, shaking his head and flashing a smile.

===

Bruce felt lighter when he caught the smile. It really shouldn’t — okay, he needed to squash this once and for all. He was just…desperate. Loathe as Bruce was to admit it, yes, he was being desperate here. Clark was a decent guy, probably made a decent living, but the moment he found out about Batman would be the moment Bruce was ruined. Not to mention what would become of Alfred.

And you know what? He decided that the staring and the flirting was getting a little obnoxious. Flattering, sure, but it was overt and lacked any sense of tact or style. Even if it was welcome breath to hear it coming from a  _guy_  —

 _Stop_ , Bruce thought. He sighed. ”So what’s the  _real_  story with Superman? Since that seems to be where we’re going.”

===

"Well, it doesn’t have to be," Lois said with a quirked eyebrow.  "Since you’d obviously rather talk about anything else.  Miss Dae, I’m beginning to think neither of our gentlemen friends are very big Superman fans."

"In that case, maybe you ladies should have chosen your friends a bit more carefully," Clark said with a playful glance at Lois.  It was easy, getting reactions from her.  

"The real story," Lois continued, rolling her eyes at Clark, "is that Superman is exactly what he seems.  Wouldn’t you say so, Smallville?"

Clark raised his eyebrows.   _There_  was a loaded question if he’d ever fielded one.  ”Sure.  I suppose.”   _For the love of God, be subtle_.   _Just… make that your new policy Clark.  For the love of God, be subtle._

_===_

Memories of Kasnia flooded back to him. He was flying over the rooftops, his entire sense of safety being held between two hands that could crush him like so many toothpicks, and with a blink he returned to reality. His heart took longer to readjust.

"So he’s really a —" Bruce struggled to think of words other than obtrusive, irritating, or any of their synonyms "— a genuine Boy Scout, huh?"

"Are you really dating him?" Miranda burst out, leaning forward. She immediately threw her hand over her mouth. "Oh, God, I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. That’s — that was very forward of me."

Bruce chuckled. “I think that Lo—”

His cell phone went off.

That particular ring was only for very, very special circumstances.

"Ah, excuse me," Bruce said. "That’s my emergency line. I need to take this." He stood, pulling out his phone with him. He barely waited until he was out of earshot before answering with a very abrupt, "Wayne."

"Sir, something’s come up at the office," Alfred was saying. He went on about two employees and embezzlement charges. Bruce heard something very different.

"Thank you, Alfred, tell them I’ll be over shortly." He hung up.

"Gotta go," Brucie said, returning to the table. "Something’s come up, I’m sorry it can’t wait. I’ll send for my butler to take you home."

Miranda looked warmly at Bruce. “That’s quite alright—”

"I insist." He bent over and pecked her on the cheek. "I’ll be in touch. Miss Lane, Mr. Clark, it was good to see you again."

He hurried without waiting for a reply.

===

"It can’t be easy to be so… busy," Lois said dismissively.

Clark nodded.  ”Yeah.  I suppose.”  He had to stop himself from wondering what had called Bruce away, and more importantly if he’d see him again.  Bruce certainly wouldn’t be having those thoughts about  _him_ … so he just needed to… overcome, or something.  Whatever it was people did in situations like this, that was what he needed to do.  Because it was perfectly ridiculous… the whole thing had been ridiculous and he’d acted ridiculously… and it needed to stop now.

He took another little sip of his water and was about to try and think of something to say, but at that moment, his phone buzzed, as did several others in the room.

The tweet had a link to a breaking story — Harvey Dent, alias Two-Face, was holding Gotham’s new district attorney, hostage inside the Museum of International History.  

He knew this was Gotham and that was Batman’s domain, but he couldn’t just sit by and twiddle his thumbs, assuming he’d do something.  He may not even know about the situation… and if he did, he may not find it necessary to act.  But  _Clark_  felt it was necessary… so Superman would have to go and just hope that he wouldn’t have a run in with Batman.

He stood up and Lois furrowed her brows, looking up from her own phone.  ”Where the hell are you going, Clark?  You’re not leaving me alone again…”

"I’m sorry, Lois, but I have to… take care of something," he said.  "It was nice meeting you, Miss Dae."  He dashed away, ignoring Lois’s accusation that he was a little weasel for trying to scoop her.

He ducked behind the building and changed, then flew off in the direction of the museum.  The museum was hosting a traveling exhibit called “2nd Dynasty” and it was full of valuable Chinese artifacts and pieces of art.  With any luck, Clark would be able to see that the hostage was safely rescued and there’d be no damage done to all the priceless items on display.

The place was already surrounded by the police when he arrived.  Every one of them looked surprised to see Superman, but no one tried to stop him from going in.

In the museum, the room with the 2nd Dynasty exhibit had been turned into a makeshift courtroom.  Clark looked around curiously and saw Two-Face standing at the opposite side of the room.  ”Mr. Dent,” he called out.  ”Mr. Dent, I’m not here to hurt you.”  The current DA was bound and gagged in what must have been the witness stand.

"Superman," Two-Face said in surprise.  "Must say, you’re not the guy I was expecting to see storm in here."

"Mr. Dent, you need to let this man go," he said.  "Whatever this is all about isn’t…"

"Oh, Superman," Two-Face said, shaking his head.  "What this is all about is fairness.  I’d have thought that’d be a cause close to your all-too-righteous little heart."  He grabbed the man by the ropes binding him and Clark balled his fists.   _Try to talk him down first…_ before _you act_ , he told himself.

"This man," Two-Face continued disdainfully, "is not worthy of calling himself an officer of the courts.  Don’t you feel that laws must mean  _something_ , Superman?”

"Of course," Clark replied quickly, feeling his patience wear thin.  "But it isn’t your place to enforce the law."

Two-Face shook his head.  ”But it’s yours?  No, I have to disagree.  This man is corrupt, as corrupt as they come.  All it takes is a nice bribe and you can walk away from  _his_  court an _innocent_  man, no matter how guilty you may be.  Sound fair to you?”

"Of course not," he replied.  "But it isn’t your place to play judge, jury, and executioner.  He deserves a fair trial with a jury of his peers.  You must see that."

"Oh,  _I’m_  not the jury,” Two-Face said, motioning to the display of twelve statues of jade.  ” _They_ are.  And they’ve just found him guilty.” 

===

Bruce parked the Batmobile a safe distance away, well out of sight. As he climbed to the rooftops of downtown, a program running in his cowl aligned itself with the detected frequency of one Captain James Gordon.

"Sitrep," Batman said.

There was a pause that reeked of stun. “Batman,” Gordon replied. “Do I want to know how you got this frequency? Over.”

Bruce grappled over to the museum roof.

"…Right, no time. Well your pal Superman already went inside."

He froze with the skylight window halfway open.  _No_ , he thought.  _Not here. Not in my city_. But just like that, anger boiled over inside of him, and there was more than just a scowl on his face.

And creeping down the back of his neck, there was sweat.

"…and I’ve got men waiting to hear from—"

"Batman out." He quickly cut the line.

Descending into the darkness, Batman glanced around him. Most of the security had been compromised, not that it mattered at this point. Of course he could hear, echoing down the halls, the sounds of many feet — hired goons, most likely — rummaging through an exhibit. “Two-for-one,” Harvey would say. He didn’t have time. Batman couldn’t trust that Superman would be able to handle the situation with the DA, and lives were always worth more than items.

He stole his way to the 2nd Dynasty showcase.

"But it’s yours? No, I have to disagree," Harvey was saying. And there was Superman, trying to talk sense into the insensible.

Batman glanced around the room while the two exchanged words. He assessed exits, choke points, angles, and the top three places Harvey had a gun stashed. It all resulted in a million different possible outcomes running through his mind, one of which was decided when Harvey pointed out the jade statues.

"Harvey Dent," Batman said, stepping from the shadows. He glanced at Superman with all the fury in the world hidden behind his cowl.

"That’s Two-Face to you, Bats!" Harvey snapped. He stepped back and quickly had a gun hefted in one hand, aimed right at the squealing DA’s temple. The unmarred half of his face twisted viciously. "What, you can’t even show up on time anymore? Gotta send your super-pal to help?"

"Harvey," Batman repeated softly. He had to focus on what was really important in this situation, to not let his anger get into his words. "You don’t want to do this."

"You would’ve found out sooner or later! Don’t tell me I don’t want to do this!"

Batman took a step forward. “But you don’t, Harvey. You haven’t flipped yet.”

That caught Harvey right in his tracks. He froze solid. “Yes I have.”

"No, Harvey. You haven’t. He would’ve been dead by now if you had."

Slowly, the breath returned to Harvey. “Hold still,” he bit out between his teeth, jerking the DA closer to him, gun still pressed flush to his skull. Harvey dug into his pocket and retrieved his coin.

"Be ready," Batman whispered. Hidden beneath his cape, a batarang fell into his hand.

Harvey shuffled the coin on his hand. Then with a flick of his finger, he flipped it in the air.

Batman shot it with the batarang, sending it flying across the room.

"No!" Harvey shouted, reaching after it. In his moment of panic, the gun left the DA’s head.

===

Clark caught the gun as it fell from Harvey’s hand and crushed it.  As he fumbled for the coin, Clark was able to move the DA away from him.  He placed him safely on the other side of the jade statues.

But when he got near those statues… he felt it almost immediately.  Something was wrong.  Something that gave him a woozy feeling in his stomach and a headache.  It made it hard to breath and it made his eyes cross.  He could feel himself folding into himself and slumping to the ground and he could hear the sounds in the room fading out, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Why hadn’t he guessed sooner?  Why hadn’t he noticed that one of those statues was a slightly different shade of green than the others?

===

Batman launched himself at Harvey. The man barely put up a fight. That only further confirmed that beneath it all Harvey was still in there, fighting against the manifestation of Two-Face. As he landed two quick blows that knocked Harvey to the ground, memories started bubbling to the surface, and Bruce pushed them down before the pain could settle in his chest.

"My coin," Harvey muttered, weakly lurching in the direction. He was two steps away from unconscious. "My coin, my coin."

Bruce slapped handcuffs on Harvey’s wrists. He put a hand up to his ear. “Gordon, Batman here.”

"Batman! What happened in there? Is Harvey alright?" Gordon asked.

"Harvey’s fine. There are men looting one of the exhibits, they’re—" He cut himself off. He heard someone crumble to the floor, and when he turned around, he quickly found out that someone was Superman. He glanced at the statutes, he thought of the sliver that had never left his belt. It wasn’t much of a leap of logic to figure out what had happened.

"Superman," Bruce said, worry in his voice. Then over the radio, and much more assuredly, "Gordon, send your men after the looters. Harvey’s cuffed and waiting for pickup."

"Copy that, Batman."

Bruce left Harvey dizzy on the floor. “Move,” he said to the wide-eyed DA as he approached. He knelt down next to Superman and tried getting a grip on the alien. “C’mon, Superman, on your feet. I am not carrying two hundred pounds of dead kryptonian out of here.”

===

"Two twenty, actually," he managed, staggering to his feet.  "But close enough.  No one’s perfect."  He leaned on Batman much more than he wanted to.  "And… thanks."  

He didn’t like that he had to have Batman help him, and he felt guilty for feeling that way.  Because he could have just left him… probably felt tempted to do just that.  But how he felt at the moment hardly mattered because he barely had the energy to think, let alone to act.


	3. Chapter 3

"Forgive me, it’s hard to guess when you’re  _floating_  half the time.” Bruce grunted as he felt Superman lean on him, but he pushed one of Superman’s arms behind his head and ignored the stress.

He had no idea what to do other than to start hauling Superman away. How far away did they need to get? Would that even be enough?  _Dammit_ , how did Superman even work?

Batman growled. “What do you need?” he asked through his teeth. “How do I stop this?”

===

"Just help me get out of here," he said, his voice wavering and too quiet.  "It’ll… get better once I’m… away from it."

===

Gordon came bursting into the exhibit, a small regiment with him. “Batman, where’s—” His eyes burst open. “ _Superman_!”

"He’ll be fine," Batman said. "Just help me get him to my car. I’ve got —  _stuff_  that can fix this.” He had absolutely nothing. No one needed to know that.

"Sure, okay," Gordon said. He looped Superman’s other arm around his own shoulders. "Bullock, take care of Harvey. Keep in touch with Bravo Squad, don’t let anyone escape!"

"You got it, Cap," a heavy-set officer replied. He eyed the trio wearily before stepping past them.

Batman wrestled with his belt to get to the Batmobile’s controls. He lead Gordon to the nearest exit, an emergency door that sounded an alarm when they opened it. There was a token squad car parked outside, and soon enough, the Batmobile came into view.

Gordon got on his radio. “‘Manda, cut that alarm, that was just us using the emergency exit,” he said.

"Copy that," a woman replied.

The passenger side door opened automatically when the Batmobile came to a stop. “I’ve got him now,” he said to Gordon, taking the full brunt of Superman’s weight. It wasn’t the most graceful twist that got him into the car, but time seemed to be more of an essence than giving the world’s most invulnerable being a bump.

The officers that had been stationed here started to gape. Batman glowered and moved around to the driver side, closing the passenger door before he did so. This was why he needed to get Superman out of here: no one needed to see him like this. Because as much as he irritated Bruce, that did not blind Bruce to the good Superman did just by being an invulnerable icon of goodness and hope.

He fell into his seat and closed the door. He had a safehouse this side of town, and with a glance at his passenger, he hit the gas. He’d come back to find the kryptonite statue once he had Superman secured away from prying eyes.

===

He was aware of everything going on around him, but he couldn’t do anything about any of it.  It was like he was watching himself on TV — Batman dragging him along like a very large ragdoll or a sack of potatoes and shoving him in a car.  Everything faded out some moments after he sat in the passenger seat of that odd car.

Later, he came to with a start.  He didn’t know how much later or where he was, and he still felt… bad.

He was disoriented.

His vision wouldn’t come into focus, his head swam, and his ears were ringing.  He tried to sit up but he didn’t quite have the strength.

He was in a room full of plants and light.  Batman had brought him here. 

"Where are we?" Clark managed to ask.  "And how’s the DA?"

===

Batman looked up from his laptop. Superman had been out for nearly six and a half hours. He hadn’t been here the whole time, of course not. Batman had a job to do, and after dealing with the statue he did a basic patrol of the island city. But it was now going on 4 am, and he had reports to file.

Besides, as much as he thought about leaving a post-it note on the fridge and calling it a night, he also realized this was a great opportunity to start filling out his Superman file, too.

"The DA’s fine. Under investigation come the morning, but alive."  _A quiet investigation_ , Batman added internally. Meaning it would largely be up to him to figure out if anything Harvey said was true. “You’re in a safe house. Don’t mind the plants, they’re part of the apartment’s cover story.”

He looked back down at his research, began typing in something. “How much do you remember of the museum?”

===

"I guess I remember most of it," he said.  "All of it up until the kryptonite."  He was able to push himself up onto his elbows.  "So… out of curiosity, why did you help me?  I’d have thought you’d enjoy stepping over me on your way out the door."

===

He added  _memory loss_  to his list.

Narrowing his eyes, Batman said, “You’re having trouble moving.” The actual question still lingered in between his words.

===

"You’re more observant than you are honest," he replied.  He forced himself to sit up and stretched his long arms over his head.  "On the mend already."

===

That stung. He supposed it was only the fact that it was Superman who had said it that made it sting, and his first reaction was to open his mouth and tell him exactly why he was in the safe house. Luckily, he caught himself halfway through the motion.

"How long does it usually take? To recover from kryptonite."

===

This was strange.  The two of them carrying on a conversation, tense though it may be.  

He rubbed the back of his neck.  ”It… depends, I suppose.  Depends on how long I’m exposed and to how much.”  He paused for a moment before getting to what he had been afraid to ask.  ”How long was I… out of it?”

===

"Six hours, thirty-two minutes. It is four-o-five in the morning." He already had numbers on mass and volume of the kryptonite found in the statue. It had taken a little convincing on Gordon’s part, but the museum staff, once called to the scene to make sure the artifacts were properly cared for, were more than happy to be rid of the offending statue. He recalled the head curater’s words exactly:  _Alla that shit oughta be destroyed soon as we find it_.

"Alla that shit" was currently stashed in his ‘Cave.

He made some conjectures and worked up a quick, flimsy equation that fit with the current time model for exhaustion. As soon as he had more information, he’d be able to make a more concrete algorithm.

"And do you still have all of your powers?" he asked.

===

Over six hours he’d been out, and it didn’t feel like he’d lost more than ten minutes.  That was… scary.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pulled himself into a sitting position.  ”Um, feels like they’re starting to come back.”  He could hear Batman’s heart beating and each little breath he took.  It was harder than usual to focus on just one sound.

He had to stop and wonder at that moment why Batman was so curious about all of this.  For all he knew, Batman was just gathering information for how to further incapacitate him next time he got in the way.

"Why are you asking me all of these questions?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow.  "Are you… taking notes?"

===

Batman closed his laptop. The cowl was starting to itch on his forehead. He ignored it.

"What were you doing in Gotham?" he asked plainly, though it was his plainness that betrayed his anger.

===

He wanted to say  _I don’t have to answer that_.  He wanted to say something snide, but now wasn’t the time to provoke.

But honestly?  He wasn’t going to answer that.

So he kept his voice calm and even and asked, “Do you always answer questions with more questions?”

===

Bruce stared at the one called Superman.  _Superman_ , he thought to himself. What had he done to earn that title? Faster than a bullet, sure, and capable of more horsepower than anything Ford could churn out. And yet, none of that seemed good enough. Anything Superman could do, Batman could do, too. Maybe not with his bare hands, maybe not with lasers coming out of his eyes, but there was nothing super about welding, smithing, speed, or agility. He had mastered that, and more, throughout his life.

"Yes, I am taking notes. Yes, I will use them against you, if I have to. And—" automatically, he forced himself to pause, just the briefest hesitation before he hit the override in his mind "—no one needs to see  _you_  powerless and vulnerable.”

He quickly morphed his face into something cold and hard. “So  _what_  are you doing in  _Gotham_?”

===

Here we go again.

"Look, I appreciate you dragging me to safety," he shot back, tone hotter than his words would seemed.  "I truly do.  But I don’t owe you any answers… besides the fact that there will never be any cause for you to have to — oh."  He paused for a moment and let Batman’s words sink in, and then he processed the words that Batman had  _not_  said.  

 _No one needs to see_ you _powerless and vulnerable_.  Batman had helped him because he thought it would be… disillusioning or damaging for people to see Superman taken down, all hope wiped out.  It had been… a genuine good deed.  He felt he should thank the man again, but he didn’t think he’d appreciate it.

He cleared his throat.  ”That’s… not going to be necessary.”

===

Bruce did not miss the sudden change in tone. He was more comfortable when Superman had simply been angry with him, but now he had to keep his breath steady despite the adrenalin cooling in his veins. It was easier to deal with people in general, when he didn’t feel so exposed.

"We’ll see," Batman growled. He stood from his spot and flipped the laptop over, plucking out a chip when he did so. Then he dropped the laptop in a drawer and put the chip in his belt. "Stay here as long as you need. But Superman—" he glowered from under the cowl "—I  _don’t_  want to see you tomorrow night, or any night after. This is  _my_  city. Stay in Metropolis.”

===

He got to his feet, not quite feeling back to normal, but well enough to stop laying about like some damsel in distress or something.

"I didn’t come here just to screw with you, you know," he said.  "I’ve got better ways to occupy my time."  Though pissing him off was a big bonus.  

===

"Of course," Batman said. "Nary a kite nor kitten will be stuck on your watch."

===

Clark rolled his eyes.  ”Right.  That’s…” He cut himself off.  It wasn’t worth it.  ”You know what?  Never mind.  I’m better now, so I’ll leave you to your sulking and planning of the head bashing.”  He nodded his head and walked past Batman toward the door.

===

"Hmph." Batman caught Superman by the arm and tested him, shoving hard in a basic twist meant to upset balance. He still had one thing left for his notes, after all.

===

Clark stumbled back but managed to right himself.  This was… this guy was… who did he think he was?  If he wanted a fight, Clark could give him that.  But they weren’t a couple of little boys scrapping in their clubhouse.  And this was ridiculous.

"Are you kidding me right now?" he demanded.  He fumed for a moment, wanting to say something more but too upset to say anything sensible.

It was a heat of the moment, split second decision that told him that the only thing better than _hitting_  that smug face would be knowing what it looked like under the cowl, under the mask he wore to blend into the night.  And the fact that Batman knew so much now… so much about him and the Kryptonite… it made him uncomfortable.  It might have been petty, but he wanted to level the playing field… or get the advantage back.  He didn’t want to acknowledge that feeling, but it was there.

But when he focused his vision and looked through the cowl, he had to look again, just to make sure his eyes weren’t still playing tricks on him.  Because… what he saw was Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was Batman?  Well, it explained the scars and bruises, the way he’d left at a moment’s notice, the sense that there was always more than what was on the surface,… the voice.  The fact that Batman and Bruce Wayne had  _both_  been in Kasnia at the same time.  He should have suspected sooner. 

He was.  They were the same person.  

"Wow," he mumbled.  "Holy freaking wow."

 


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce did not move. He did not flinch. He let the situation sink into his mind, and he ran the numbers on what might have just happened. And he knew it would’ve happened at some point.

"You peeked," he said. There was a question in there, too. And anger. Carefully controlled, vicious anger. He channeled it into keeping himself…oddly calm.

===

Subtlety had evaded him yet again.  Just as well.  All the cards were on the table.

"Well, you pushed me," Clark responded.  Literally and figuratively.

===

Batman gnashed his teeth together. Why had he ever thought that it would be good for someone to know who he was? Why did he ever think was going to come from this, affirmation? Some sort of epiphany about— about—

…What was he going to do about Alfred?

Sweat turned cold against his skin. He lifted his chin. ”So now what will you do? Gonna go tell your reporter friends about me?”

===

Clark heaved a sigh.  He hadn’t thought about what he was going to do.  He hadn’t had time to process it.  But if he revealed Batman’s identity, he’d be forced to stop doing what he did… and Clark had to grudgingly admit that Batman had made a difference in Gotham.  Revealing his secret wouldn’t help anyone.

"No," he said simply.  "I don’t plan on telling anyone."  He paused momentarily and thought about Bruce Wayne, and he couldn’t reconcile that image with the man in front of him.  He closed his eyes and shook his head to clear memories of earlier that evening.

"Let’s just say this is my own little insurance," he continued.  "I’m sure by now you’ve got kryptonite… and if you don’t you will soon."

===

"Then we’re done here." Batman whirled for the hidden exit. He didn’t need to stay here. Hell, he shouldn’t have been here period. He had let his curiosity get the better of him, he hadn’t been thinking logically. But he thought about the statue in his cave, thought about how reassuring it would be to have a piece much larger than the sliver in his belt. At all times, actually.

Now that Superman knew, this changed everything.

But maybe the playing fields weren’t as even as the alien liked to think.

===

He waited until Batman was gone to leave.  He felt steady again, strong enough to fly.  And as he flew home, he was sure of one thing: that man was completely, positively insufferable.

He sailed in through the bedroom window of his apartment and shed his uniform quickly.  After a very hot shower, he walked back into his bedroom, towel slung around his waist, and picked up his things off of the floor.  As he went to hang up his cape, he noticed a little device, no bigger than his pinkie nail, stuck to the red fabric.

He plucked it off of his cape and looked closely at it… and he knew.  This was Batman’s doing.  He couldn’t stand that Clark knew who was under that cowl so he had to spy.

"Dammit," Clark muttered under his breath, crushing the tracker between his thumb and pointer finger.

Positively insufferable didn’t even begin to cover it.

===

Bruce waited in the Batmobile, watching the computer before him. When the GPS stopped on a high rise apartment in Metropolis, he pulled up a list of all of its tenants. He was reading through said list when the signal was lost — Superman probably found it;  _oh well_ — and then he stopped.

 _Clark Kent_ , the screen ruefully mocked at him.

 _Clark Kent_ , he read for a second time. And — and it made sense, didn’t it? Clark was in Kasnia the same as Superman, Clark was in Gotham the same as Superman. Or, “in the neighborhood,” as he had put it.

 _Clark Kent_. Bruce frowned. One more time, just to be certain. Because…Because he had entertained those thoughts, hadn’t he? He had truly let himself—

—and he didn’t even  _see_  it, it was barely even a disguise—

— _What was he thinking_? Bruce made the most disgusted sound he could muster, heaved it out from deep in his chest and let it rattle between his teeth. He switched the Batmobile into _drive_  with far more force than necessary and he sped off, down streets of Gotham, through the winding roads that were being lightened by the waxing dawn.

None of it mattered. Batman had work to do.


End file.
